Sherlock's Skull
by Elodie Nightngale
Summary: This is the story of how and why Sherlock has his skull. "It's a friend. When I say friend..." (Study in Pink)


I've always hated love stories.

John told me I needed to write this down. It's been torturing me for years and years and years-and after all of my years of tangling people in my words, my stupid simple words, now I don't know how to begin.

Love is stupid. Love is weak.

I was 18, I believe. Stuck in middle school. Yes, stuck. Bored to tears every day. Mycroft was always hovering about somewhere, followed by his cronies. They all thought he was brilliant. Even though I helped with most of his political essays anyway. I was sitting in the corner of the classroom, as usual. Finished all my work, as usual. Analyzing who had kissed who in the last 24 hours, as usual. The door opened. A teacher's aid and a girl came in.

You know I remember everything. But I couldn't tell you what the lesson was that day. I couldn't tell you if the teacher's aide was a boy or a girl.

But...as stupid as it sounds...I could remember her.

She wore skinny jeans with combat boots and a long sleeve black shirt that she held in place with her hands, her fingers wrapped comfortably around the hem of her sleeves. She had simple jewelry – pearl earrings. Her gold hair was long, reaching to her waist. She had a nice round face that seemed ageless. Her eyes were blue and older than the rest of her. She scanned the room and locked her eyes on me. I couldn't breathe. Stupid, stupid stupid. Is this how you normal people feel all the time? How do you function?

I didn't see the girl the rest of the day. Or the rest of the week. Then she showed up in the hall one day after school. I had forgotten her until that moment. She was struggling with textbooks and her backpack. Somehow she was still graceful about it. Until she dropped one. She stopped, shifting her weight but unable to pick it up. She sighed, blowing a strand of gold hair out of her face. Before I knew what I was doing I was walking over to her and I picked up the textbook. It was for History.

"Oh...thank you." She was American. She didn't look it. She was still wearing long-sleeves, and still had character-filled eyes.

"You're welcome." I said. She flushed. I was still holding the book. "When did you move here?" I said.

"Three, four weeks?" She said. "Sorry about my accent. It's probably pretty coarse." 

"What? Oh. I...didn't notice." I lied. What was wrong with me?

"I'm Valerie." She said. "Probably should have opened with that, sorry."

"Sherlock." I said. Waiting for her to laugh.

She didn't.

"Wow. That's a really cool name." She said sincerely, smiling. I blinked, slightly shocked. And I don't get shocked often. I realized we had been standing in silence, and I was still holding her text book.

"The kids warned me about you." Valerie said.

"Did they?" I said. "What did they say?"

"Stay away, he's insane. Run, was the exact word." Valerie said.

"Why aren't you?" I said. That I truly didn't understand. She seemed intelligent enough to want to keep a good name in school, so she wouldn't want to attract too much attention, and talking to me was a sure way of sealing her popularity fate.

"Curiosity killed the cat." Valerie said.

"I..." I looked down at the book. I felt something strange. It was warmer than curiosity and getting warmer by the second. I needed to get away from her. But her age-filled eyes seemed to be holding me.

She shifted. "Could you...I mean, would you mind if you...helped me carry my books to my locker? I don't actually need any of them tonight. But they're super obnoxious and heavy..." Valerie said, her face turning red.

"Of course." I said before I could even think about it. We started walking, and I took a few more of her books, but it was as if someone else was controlling my actions.

One of her sleeves had come slightly above the wrist. It revealed a dark bruise. Valerie subconsciously moved the sleeve back into her palm as she adjusted which books she was holding in her arms.

_ Long sleeves. Hidden arms. No cuts. Beaten? Moved recently. Bruises are fresh._

She was wearing a necklace with a college ring on it. It had a year and some other miscellaneous information. Drama and band.

_ Parent's college ring. Probably mother's judging by size. Mother is either dead or parents are divorced._ _Beaten? Staying after school after hours. Social, accepting, and wise. _

_ Divorced parents, Living with father, Beaten but strong. Reason for moving? Sick mother._

I smiled as the pieces fit into place until I realized that Valerie was not just looking at me – she was analyzing me as well. They had stopped in front of her locker and were simply staring.

"I'm sorry." Valerie said, starting and turning, opening her locker. "I didn't mean to stare."

"How is your mother? Has she been sick for long?"

Valerie did not looked shocked. She simply looked at me gravely, though her eyes hardened. "She's in the hospital. Wanted to see me, so my father sent me here." _**Stepfather, **__not father. _

"How long will you be here?"

Fear and uncertainty flashed across her face.

"Until my mom either gets better or...or doesn't." Valerie said, shutting her locker. She glanced at a small silver watch, pushing back her sleeve momentarily. She winced and pulled it back down.

"Do you want to come with me?" I said. What? What did I just say?

"Come with you? Come where?" Valerie said, almost scoffing, but she seemed confused. I didn't blame her, because, for once, I was confused about the entire situation.

"To my house. I'm sure mum wouldn't mind."

"I don't know..."

"I can help you with homework. I help my brother with his all the time." Valerie looked at me skeptically.

"Are you any good?"

"Very good." I said confidently.

"At what?" She said, raising an eyebrow.

"Everything."

Valerie smiled briefly.

"Fine." 

Chapter 2

When we got to my house, Father was still at work. Mycroft and his gang were in the kitchen having a heated debate about something useless and political. One day, maybe, he would realize that politics were worthless as a debate topic, but extremely useful as leverage. Valerie followed me silently, obviously uncomfortable. We walked out to the backyard and I opened the greenhouse door.

"This is where I do my homework." I said when she gave me a quizzical look.

It was pleasantly warm in the greenhouse. Newspaper clippings were everywhere. I liked to keep up with who was killing who even then, but I didn't do anything about it. I hadn't even attempted to solve any of them-but if it said "killed" or "possible murder" it was there. Valerie set down her backpack and studied the clippings.

"Just a hobby of mine." I said, putting my bag down.

"Killing people?"

"What?" I turned and looked at her. She laughed.

"I was kidding. Unless you aren't." Her sarcasm caught me off guard, and I tried to catch on.

"Oh. No, I don't kill people. I just..."

"Solve crimes?" Valerie said, peering at one.

"What?" I..."

"You've written something on this one. A name and an address."

"Oh." I walked casually over and ripped it down. "That's nothing. Was just a wild guess anyway." I crumpled the clipping and shoved it in my pocket. But I knew it hadn't been a wild guess. I had solved the murder a month before the police even picked up any solid evidence. They had caught the killer five weeks ago. Valerie gave me a strange look. Thoughtful, analytical. Is that how you feel all the time when I pull you apart? It's unnerving.

"Homework, right?" I said, changing the subject.

"Right." Valerie said.

We worked on homework for the next few hours. Valerie was good at English, and I was good at Math, so we helped each other. She didn't seem to mind my remarks of "how simple" math was, even though it obviously was her biggest struggle. Then again, maybe she didn't mind because she did the same thing with me and English. We worked for hours, and it started to get dark outside as clouds rolled in. Valerie laughed at my struggle to remember the different poetry rhythms and why 'Pathos' was so important when her phone buzzed and she stiffened. She answered it after the second buzz.

"Hello?"

_ "Where are you?!" _A deep voice boomed. Valerie paled.

"At a friends."

_ "You've been at school for a day and you already have a friend? Why didn't you tell me where you were?" _

"You told me not to bother you-"

"_Come home. Now. I have to leave in about 10 minutes, so you better hurry. Get a cab." _Valerie winced as it was hung up. Valerie bit her lip and closed the phone, trembling. She was a completely different person from the girl laughing and joking sarcastically seconds before.

"Um...I should go." Valerie said, gathering her things. "Except..." She shifted. "I've never gotten a cab before." She said awkwardly. I looked at her in shock. Then I laughed.

"It's really easy." I said. She didn't smile. I realized maybe laughing wasn't the best thing to do. "I'm...I'm sorry. I'm not good with people." I said, forcing the words from my mouth. They were heavy and awkward. It felt like no matter what I said it would be wrong. Valerie half-smiled, but she was obviously distracted.

I walked her to the street and showed her how to get a cab. She thanked me and ducked into the cab, and I felt a tight, red feeling as the cab drove away.

The next day I spotted her immediately at lunch. She was making her way through the crowded courtyard, holding a white sack in one hand. Mycroft and his cronies were a couple tables away, dressed in ironed pants and crisp shirts, discussing something boring. Valerie spotted me and waved. I waved back, and she came over.

"Can I eat with you?"

"Of course." I said. She sat down next to me, opening the white sack. She pulled out what was obviously hospital food.

"I was visiting my mom." Valerie explained, even though I already knew. "And I didn't really stay home long enough to grab anything, so...I go there often enough they know my order by heart." She laughed bitterly. "Sad when the hospital cafe knows your usual, right?" She bit into the sandwich and glanced at me.

"That color looks really good on you." She said.

"Blue? I never wear blue." I said. "I always thought it was a pointless color." I said, pulling out some unfinished homework.

"Really?" Valerie said, sounding surprised. "It seems like such a you color though."

"What?" I said, looking up at her. "You obviously don't know me at all."

"Obviously." Valerie said, smiling. "You aren't cool or collected on the surface but a whirring genius underneath. You don't pick up minor details like others pick up the hottest trend. You do it without conscious thought or will. You are a calm lake with a brewing storm underneath-galaxies swirling underneath a smooth black void." Valerie took another bite of her sandwich.

"How is that the color blue?" I said, staring at her.

"How is it not the color blue?" Valerie said, laughing.

"Sherlock." Mycroft had walked over, his friends watching.

"What is it now?" I said. "Oh, this is my annoying older brother by the way."

"I know." Valerie said slyly. "He introduced himself earlier." Mycroft's nostrils flared and he turned bright red. He glared at Valerie.

"What do you need, Mycroft?"

"Nothing. I think it's what you need, Sherly." I glared at him.

"What I need is some peace and quiet." I said. "Why don't you go play Government with your friends?"  
Mycroft sniffed disapprovingly and turned, going back to his friends.

"You smacked him." I said, impressed.

"Yes I did."

"He tried to flirt with you."

"More like...failed. Miserably." Valerie said. She glanced over.

"New case?"

"What?" I asked. Valerie smiled and reached over, taking out the newspaper clipping that was sticking out of my textbook.

"This, silly." Valerie said, waving the newspaper clipping in my face before snatching it back and reading it. She scanned it quickly and glanced at me, all playfulness gone. I tried to look natural, as if it was just a hobby, not an obsession. Valerie gave me a sideways look, then shifted so she was facing me.

"You can solve this, can't you." She said.

"Don't be ridiculous." I said. "No one could."

Valerie smiled and looked down at the paper, reading it again.

"It's probably the youngest son, doing it for the money."

"Of course not." I said before I could stop myself. "It was the wife. She found out her husband was sleeping with a reporter so she killed him after confronting him. Probably an accident, she's known for over-reacting and has hit people before. She used the lamp in the bedroom but got carried away, and her husband already had a heart condition which helped end it so much faster."

Valerie raised her eyebrows.

"That's amazing." She said, a smile sneaking onto her face. "You knew what it was before I even came over."

"And you knew it wasn't the youngest son." I said, taking the newspaper back.

"I wanted you to solve it." Valerie said.

"Well now I have, are you happy?" I snapped. She looked at me, almost laughing.

"Why don't you tell the police?" Valerie asked.

"They wouldn't believe me." I scoffed.

"Anonymously?" Valerie suggested. I shook my head.

"I just do it so I'm not bored. I'm not going to just solve every case for the Police." Valerie looked at me carefully, studying my face.

"You should leave a tip." She said finally.

"They'll investigate."

The bell rang and Valerie stood, shouldering her bag. She tilted her head, her gold hair falling to one side.

"Something tells me you're good enough not to leave tracks." She said. She smiled, almost at herself, and turned and walked away. I rolled my eyes, gathering my books. I had a free period.

After about half an hour Valerie's words were still haunting me. I knew I could pull it off. Easily. They would never know. They probably wouldn't believe me, or, the anonymous tip.

_ At least you could give it a try_.

To my surprise, the voice in my head was not my own. It was Valerie's'. I sat in the empty courtyard for a few more minutes, then grabbed my bag and headed to drop off the information.

After school Valerie found me before Mycroft did, which was unusual, especially since she had only known me for a couple of days. Funny. It seemed longer than that.

"You did it." She said, smiling snidely.

"Of course I did." I said. "I weighed the options and-"

"You couldn't get the idea out of your head." She said.

"What?"

"The idea of someone else knowing how brilliant you are." She said. "Any other cases?"

"I don't know." I lied. I had at least four open cases from the newspaper this morning, and some of them weren't even open to the public yet.

"You know." Valerie said. "You always know." She smiled. "You should solve more."

"Why?" I asked bitterly. "There's no gain for me!" I said. Valerie laughed.

"You left out the emotional part." She said, meeting my gaze. It was stupidly electrifying. "All those people out there care, even if it's just a puzzle to you. You're saving lives and redeeming others."

"Very poetic and all..." I said, still not understanding. "But like you said, it's just puzzles."

"How about this." Valerie said. "I'll help with the emotional part, and you can deal with the puzzle part?" She hadn't looked away yet. There was a strange buzzing in my brain.

"Alright." I said. "What's in it for you?"

Valerie looked at me strangely, a sad smile glinting across her face.

"Well, for one," She said, looking away. "I can avoid being home."

The humor of the conversation was gone. Somehow, I didn't understand the redemption or the love she talked about with solving cases. But when she retracted, both physically and emotionally, something clicked. Seeing her hunch her shoulders, fold her arms, and clench her fists was painful to watch. I didn't want her to be in pain. Maybe that's what solving cases was like for her. Stopping the pain.

"Fine by me." I said. "Shall we go back to the greenhouse?"

She relaxed her shoulders and smiled.

"Yes please." She said. We ran to the street to get a cab.

Chapter 3

Back at the greenhouse, Valerie went through the cases I had open. She read them quickly and quietly, then would ask me my theories. She never said 'solution.' Sometimes I would leave somethingout, though I had covered it in my head, and she would bring it to light. It was relaxing, almost comforting. we were sitting, relaxed in broken-in woven chairs, talking about homicide like my mother discussed books over tea.

"What about this one?" Valerie said, pulling out a particularly long newspaper clipping. "Lots of fluff, not much evidence stated."

"Yes, but the 'fluff' is where the evidence is hidden." I said eagerly. "You remember reading the reporter's statement at the end 'I'm sure this new case will open new forensic devices?' "

"Yeah, I thought that was a bit strange." Valerie said, glancing over the clip. "I mean, it's a pretty practical case."

"Unless." I said, my mind whirring. Valerie looked at me almost questioningly.

"Unless...the reporter knows something we don't?" Valerie guessed.

"Yes!" I said, shocked that she got it right. Mycroft was always wrong, mostly because all he wanted to do was relate it to government issues.

"So do you think the reporter is actually involved, or just being nosy?" Valerie asked, leaning forward. I leaned forward, moving my hands as I talked.

"Well, this reporter has been looking for a good story for months." I said quickly, hoping Valerie could keep up. "She isn't very bright, but knows a good story when she gets one. She's been polishing every story that passes under her nose until it's almost headline worthy. This is her big break, which came," I said, getting excited, "Just before the newspaper makes it's new budget. She was getting desperate. She got nosier than ever. Read me the description of the murder again."

Valerie, excited, grabbed the clip and searched for the description. Funny. People were never 'excited' like this when we discussed homicide.

We.

"Ok, here it is." Valerie said. "Victor H. was found in his apartment yesterday, stabbed four times in the back, seemingly by four different people. There was no evidence of a weapon used, and Victor was..." She paused, suddenly smiling. "Was wrapped in a bed sheet, though he was fully clothed." She slammed the clipping on the table, standing. I stood with her.

"What?"

"Tell me more about the reporter." Valerie said. "I want to see if I have my own theory."

"Well..." I said, pacing. "She's young, she's pretty, she does anything and everything to get information. She majored in English and studied literary legends to try to improve her writing."

"Now tell me about the victim, Victor H."

"Now that is an interesting thing." I said, whipping around to face her. "Victor H. works a completely different job. No relation to the Newspaper at all, which would point that this reporter is clearly linked. Victor is just a large, burly man from Austria who moved here to work construction and manual labor jobs."

"A blue collar job." Valerie said. "How poetic. Was he rising in his own community?"

"What?" I said, pausing in my flurry of action. "I-I don't know."

"We need to find out." Valerie said. "Because look-Victor's picture is here. It's not a work picture. You said he did manual labor, lifting and building-rough jobs. Look at the picture." She said, standing next to me and showing the picture. Indeed, Victor was smiling happily, in a tux of sorts.

"If he was rising in his own work community, he would have attracted more attention. Maybe he had a hidden talent. Here's the rest of my theory." Valerie said, running a hand nervously through her hair. "If Victor was, indeed, rising in his community, maybe making more money on the side, this reporter would want to get a scoop on it. Maybe he did something for the public that wasn't getting noticed yet, but would become big. She got involved, like you said she always did. She would do anything to be able to get close-"

"To her stories." I said, picking up on her theory. "And she...she stabbed him?"

"Look at this guy." Valerie said. "He's not bad looking. Almost celebrity-worthy. A big strong guy like that? Lots of appeal. But if he was getting cocky, he probably has a lot of exes."

"X's?" I asked. Valerie laughed.

"See, this is why I'm here. Exes-he broke up with lots of girls. Maybe used them. Maybe bought a night and then dumped them."

"She found out his dirty secrets." I said. "But why? She just wants money."

"Gossip is their biggest money income." Valerie said. "Hardly anyone cares for good deeds anymore in their headlines. So she found his secrets; maybe she got too close. So she got creative."

"By stabbing him?"

"She got four people," Valerie said. "And stabbed him. His once closest relationships. Don' you see? It's Caesar! 'Wrapped in a sheet, though he was fully clothed.' She majored in 'literary legends.' Shakespeare wrote Caesar. She needed a story, and she had the brains to make one."

"Now we just need a link." I said.

"Wait-" Valerie bit her lip. "Are you—are you saying my theory could work?"

"Yes! Oh yes!" I said, grasping her shoulders and smiling at her. "It's brilliant!"

Time froze. The case forgotten momentarily. I couldn't think about anything else. Valerie was studying my face. We were close. Too close.

Perfectly close.

"You have a nice smile." Valerie said quietly.

"I smile all the time." I said, stepping back and putting my hands awkwardly in my pockets.

"Not like that." Valerie said. "That was a real smile." We stood there in silence. Then her phone buzzed. She answered it, wincing as her stepfather yelled at her to get home.

"I have to go." Valerie said. "He's got some poker game he's late for." She turned and shouldered her backpack. "I'll look into Victor H." She smiled sadly before leaving. Something hollow and ragged was filling my chest. Hollow for her. Ragged for her stepfather.

We worked on the case for days more, Valerie using my laptop, I studying my notes and new articles. One time, I was deep in thought—like I usually was—but apparently had gone deeper than usual because when I opened my eyes, Valerie was studying my face.

"Where do you go?" She asked, pulling her knees to her chest and watching me.

"Go?"

"When you do that. I've seen you do it before-you just...go."

"Oh." I sat down, trying to figure out how to explain my thought process. "Well-it's...just a method, I guess. I have this sort of system in my head where I keep everything I see. I go there to sift through information."

"A system?" She said. "I've heard of methods like that. Where do you go for your thoughts?"

"I don't know. Just someplace."

"Palace."

"What?"

"I would call it a Palace. Large, grand, full of history, and well guarded." Valerie was looking out the greenhouse wall, thinking.

"A Mind Palace." I said. "What a ridiculous idea." Valerie blushed, but laughed.

"Yeah, I guess. Find anything?"

"Not yet. I think I'm getting close." I said, moving on.

"Yeah, I know what you mean." Valerie said, turning back to the laptop.

After a while, Valerie gasped.

"Sherlock-"

"What?" I said, startled.

"Listen to this." Valerie said. "Victor H. has been rising into the world of Children's Literature and Education. Not only has he charmed children and teachers alike, but he has charmed the book industry as he rewrites literary legends for elementary kids, as well as helping with teaching kids who struggle with reading."

"Wait—But the reporter-"

"Majored in English." Valerie said.

"The link!" I said, jumping out of my chair. "Valerie, that's brilliant! Amazing! You are absolutely fantastic-"

Valerie tried to hide her face by cupping her chin in her hand, looking at the laptop.

"Really, though." I said, placing my hands on her shoulders. "That was amazing."

"Thanks, Mr. Genius." She said, grinning. 

Chapter 4

It was winter. Snow had fallen and we had been solving cases together for almost a year. It was strange. We moved from the greenhouse, sometimes getting vendor treats or some fast food. Sometimes I would pay, sometimes she would. It was the highlight of my day. Sometimes she had to go straight home, and it felt strange not having someone to talk to anymore. I wasn't sure how I had been able to solve so many cases before. It felt strange. It was too quiet. I had resorted to talking aloud, sometimes playing my violin just to ward away the silence.

Mycroft was becoming extremely annoyed. I caught him trying to set up some sort of watching system to track me at school-me and Valerie caught on quickly and led them on wild goose chases. It was great fun, taking down their system person by person. Valerie was an outsider because of her friendship to me, but I quickly realized she didn't care. It was almost safer for her that way-the less friends she had, the less trouble she had at home, and the less jealous I was.

One day she said she would be late. She said she had something to do, and I knew she was visiting the hospital. Her mother was getting worse. We had gotten to the point in our relationship where she would know what I left unsaid and I would obviously know whatever she didn't say. It made school conversations very convenient.

I got bored very quickly. I started playing my violin after she was 20 minutes later than she said she would be. I played a lot softer and slower then. I guess I didn't have enough stress to need it to be fiercer. I used to get completely lost in the music, because it was the only way I could actually feel sympathy or empathy. The way the bow caused simple vibrations that the brain could process as beauty and emotion was intriguing to me.

"You never told me you could play."

I dropped the bow, and it clattered to the floor of the greenhouse. I turned to see Valerie, red-eyed and shivering. She didn't have a coat.

"It never came up." I said. She closed the greenhouse door, but didn't move. Something told me I shouldn't deduce what was wrong. It felt awkward to do so.

"What is it?" I asked, leaning down and picking up the bow, setting the violin on the table. Valerie was silent. I looked up and the hollow ragged feeling raged again as I looked at her. She was shivering, hugging herself, and looking at the ground. Her blonde hair had fallen across her face, casting shadows.

"She's—she's dead." Valerie said, and pressed her hand over her mouth. "my mom-she's dead." Valerie sank to the floor, hugging herself tighter, shivering even more. I took off my jacket and walked over, putting it around her shoulders. Mechanically. It felt right. That's what they did in movies. That's what the popular guys did for their girlfriends at school. But usually they weren't also dealing with the grief of death.

As I put it around her shoulders she grasped my hand, more for support than anything else. I sat down next to her, but she didn't move. It was almost as though she was scared to move. I had the sudden urge to be closer to her. I battled with feelings silently, Valerie still crying. Feelings. How do you function? How do you deal with all the conflicts? The what ifs?

Finally I pulled her against me. Carefully, gingerly. It was so stupid of me. I shouldn't have done it. I should have left. I should have never talked to her all those months before. But at the time-I didn't care. I had never thought anyone would put up with me, let alone I put up with them.

I don't know how long we sat there. Finally she leaned back, wiping away tears.

"I'm sorry." Valerie said, taking deep breaths. "I—we should work on a case." She stood shakily and loosened her grip on my hand. I didn't let go.

"Valerie-"

"I'll be fine. I just need to focus on something else right now." She said. I stood slowly and tucked her hair behind her ear so I could see her face.

"Ok." I said. "I'll let you pick first."

Valerie seemed fine as we worked on the cases. She got more and more into them, like before. Her eyes dried and brightened, and we worked on theories and cases. She even laughed a little bit. Until her phone rang and she almost cried again. I was impressed that she didn't. She closed the phone and bit her lip.

"He's drunk." She said finally. "I might not be at school tomorrow. I'll try to stop by." She stood and turned to leave, then realized she still had my jacket.

"Keep it." I said. "You need it more than I do."

"Thank you." She said. She smiled at me sadly and left.

I played the violin fiercely for the first time that night as she drove away in a taxi. 

Valerie wasn't at school the next day. I hurried home to the Greenhouse. Mycroft was waiting for me.

"What do you want?" I asked irritably.

"I was just wondering where your girlfriend was." Mycroft said.

"She isn't my girlfriend." I said, sitting down among the clippings and webs of red thread, connecting people to murders. Mycroft sat on the table, studying me.

"I saw you two yesterday. I also noticed your jacket is missing."

"Oh, good." I said. "Your skills at noticing personal details is improving."

"Don't patronize me." Mycroft said. "You care for her. She doesn't care for you."

"How do you know that? Since when were you an expert on girls?" I said. I was surprised at how annoyed I was. And worried. What if he was right? He couldn't be.

"She won't come." Mycroft said. "She's not interested."

"You're jealous." I said.

"And you're blind." Mycroft said. He left, not looking at me. After he left I gripped my fists, finally throwing an empty pot. It shattered on the floor, sending red pieces everywhere.

I waited. It seemed like I was waiting for a lifetime.

But she came. She was wet with snow, but she came. It was all I could do to stop from running to her and hugging her. That is when I realized I was, indeed, blind. Mycroft had been right in that aspect.

"Hi. I'm sorry-" She winced. "I'm sorry I was late." She gingerly took off my jacket, setting it on the table.

"He beat you." I said, standing. "He beat you bad."

"I'm fine." Valerie said. I walked over to her and grabbed her hand, pulling back her sleeve. Large, dark bruises covered her arms. The ragged feeling was back.

"Why didn't you tell me he was getting worse earlier." I said, staring at the bruises.

"It's fine." Valerie lied. "Really-"

"This is not fine." I said, brushing my fingertips on the bruises. "This was never fine."

"Please-" She tried to pull away but I pulled her back, a little harder than I had intended. She cried out and I let go, horrified. I had hurt her.

"I'm fine, Sherlock, I'm sorry—I didn't mean to-" She looked at me, concerned. She was covered in bruises and her mother was dead and she was concerned about me. I stepped forward and hugged her, carefully. She hugged me back, burying her face into my shoulder.

We solved cases, as usual. We laughed, we talked. And then she had to leave, and I wanted her back, and I wanted her Stepfather dead. 

Chapter 5

Valerie stayed less and less. Her Stepfather was getting worse and worse. She missed weeks of school. By Christmas break, I hadn't seen her for days. But on the first day off she showed up at the greenhouse.

"Any new cases?" She asked, smiling. She had a yellow-green bruise on her cheek.

"Yes." I said, trying to ignore the ragged feeling raging inside of me that told me to rip her stepfather's heart out, beat him like he had beaten Valerie.

We didn't stay in the greenhouse. We walked the streets of London, and our conversation wandered from our cases. There hadn't been many murders lately. It seemed even criminals took Christmas off. We bought hot chocolate and looked at the lights, and I would occasionally deduce a stranger out of habit, and Valerie would laugh lightly at my correct assumptions. I felt like a different person. I didn't know if it was good or bad. But I hadn't cared. I had loved seeing her smile.

As it got dark, we headed back to the greenhouse.

"I should go. My stepfather should be asleep by now." Valerie said as it got later. "Can I come again tomorrow?"

"Christmas Eve is tomorrow." I said. Valerie shrugged.

"I don't do anything that special." She said, almost bitterly. "Oh-well-" She pulled out a package. "I do give my friends presents. This is for you." It was wide and flat. I unwrapped it to find a framed pencil sketch, signed by Valerie. It was of me.

"Thank you, Valerie." I said. "I don't have anything for you-I told you I'm no good with people." Valerie smiled strangely, tilting her head, as if she didn't care, but found it strange that I did.

"That's ok." She said. "You rescued me from today—I'll take that as a present. Goodnight, Sherlock Holmes." She said. She shifted awkwardly, then kissed my cheek hurriedly before turning and walking towards the corner to get a cab. I watched her go, and felt like I would never see her again. I watched, and then found myself walking after her, tucking the drawing under my arm.

"Valerie, wait-" I said, reaching her. I slipped in the snow, and grabbed her wrist, spinning her around.

"What-"

I leaned down and kissed her, placing my hand on her chin. She didn't run. She didn't shrink. She hugged me instead.

"I-" I stuttered when we broke apart.

"Merry Christmas, I guess." She said, smiling, then she laughed. I smiled what she would call one of my 'real smiles.' She hugged me tightly and I slipped again, spinning slightly instead. She stepped back and started to walk away, and looked back. I smiled at her, and she smiled back before hailing a taxi and driving away.

***** 

She didn't come the next day.

She didn't come that night.

Something was wrong.

I walked to her house. Of course I knew where she lived. I walked to her house to see the curtains closed and the door locked. Something was wrong. But I didn't know what it was. Valerie would have called. She always did. I walked carefully in the darkness, watching the house. A light flicked on in the attic, and I saw a large shadow cross. Her stepfather, no doubt. Something was wrong.

And I was scared for her.

I called her cell phone, watching the house from the shadows. It rang twice before movement in the top window. It rang one more time before going directly to voice mail. I waited for five agonizing minutes before calling again. It rang once before movement, and went straight to voice mail again. I rubbed my hands together in the cold. I noticed more movement in the neighboring house-a curtain in the window facing Valerie's house moved. The neighbor knew something was wrong too. I stood there for hours. At midnight, the light flicked off and a few minutes later a man that I assumed was Valerie's stepfather left, closing the door quietly and getting into his car. He drove off.

He hadn't locked the door to his house. Valerie wasn't there. I stepped out onto the slushy street and quickly found which tracks belonged to the car that was vanishing around the street corner. I pulled my motorbike out of the alley and started to chase after the car, lights off, my eyes on the road. Luckily he used back streets, seeming to avoid traffic and leave the city. after a while we were in the country, my eyes straining from looking at the road and the faint brake lights far ahead. 

We drove into trees. I knew it was private property, but no one had owned it for decades. It was the original 'haunted area' for the local school kids. Of course no one went there.

Except for Valerie's stepfather.

The car disappeared out of sight, and I knew there must be a house nearby. I pulled over, not bothering to hide the motorbike. I ran down the road, slipping and sliding a little bit. It seemed to stretch forever. It curved, and a house came into sight. Completely dark, with broken windows but sturdy doors.

I didn't have a plan. I didn't have any weapons. I didn't even have a mobile phone.

But I walked up anyway. I snuck around back, not making a sound, and only treading where there was no snow or where footprints wouldn't be noticed. The backdoor was unlocked. I placed a hand on the hinge and opened it, pressing so it couldn't creak. I slipped inside, leaving the door. It was dark, except for the light filtering in from outside. I knew the layout almost immediately, recognizing features on the walls that let me know when it had built. I mapped it out in my head, and decided Valerie must be in one of the rooms upstairs. I waited, listening. for a creak, a cough. Anything.

What I heard instead was something much worse.

It was a scream. It was a pain-ridden, tired scream that rattled my soul. I jumped, gripping the chair next to me. I heard muffled shouting, a deep voice. Then a panicked, higher voice. Valerie. I ran to the bottom of the stairs as there was a dull, sickening thud and another scream. I pounded up the stairs, not caring about being quiet. Anything to stop her from being hurt. I still heard her, what sounded like dry sobbing. I couldn't be quiet anymore.

"Valerie!" I yelled. "Valerie!"

A door slammed opened and Valerie's stepfather stormed into the hallway. He looked normal enough—jeans, button-up shirt, casual trainers—except there was blood speckled on his sleeves and collar. The ragged feeling erupted as I ran at him. He smirked and caught my jacket collar, shoving me against the wall. I heard Valerie yelp, startled. I saw his hand curl into a fist, pulling back. I ducked as it surged forward, and punched into the wall behind me. I kicked his groin and shoved him back, elbowing his neck as he looked up. I shoved the heel of my palm into his nose, feeling it break. I kicked his chest and he slumped against the wall.

I ran into the room he had left.

"Valerie."

She was lying on the floor, shuddering, her face covered with her hair, a zip tie holding her wrists together, cutting into her skin. A knife was by the doorway.

"Valerie-" I grabbed the knife and knelt, carefully cutting the zip ties. "Valerie I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

"Why would you be sorry?" She said, smiling faintly. "You're never sorry." She coughed, shaking, and blood came up as she coughed.

"I think—I think he punched a little too hard." Valerie said. I brushed a hand over her ribs, and she cried out, gripping my arm in pain.

"Sorry, I'm sorry..." I kept muttering, over and over again. "He—one of your ribs has punctured a lung..."

"Yeah. It doesn't feel too great." She said, coughing. There was pounding on the stairs and a cop came into the room.

"Sir-"

"Just—just give me a minute!" I said, not taking my eyes off Valerie.

"Leave him." Another cop said. "That's the boy I saw outside her house. He's a friend."

"We need to treat her."

"Please!" I said, turning. "Please, help her. Don't let her die."

"A medic is coming."

"Her stepfather is waking up."

"Cuff him."

I turned back to Valerie, gently brushing her hair back from her bruised face.

"I'm sorry I didn't figure it out in time." I said.

"Shh. It's ok." Valerie said, brushing her fingers against my cheek.

"No, it's not." I whispered.

"Sherlock—Don't forget." She said, looking up at me with her age old eyes. "Don't ever stop solving-don't ever stop doing what you love." She coughed, then looked back at me, tracing my face with her fingers and eyes. "Don't forget you're important." She breathed. "And don't forget that I—I love you, Sherlock Holmes. Genius of the world. The only one." She smiled faintly.

"My Genius."

Her breathing became ragged and painful, and her eyes panicked.

"Hurts-"

"I'm sorry." I said, hugging her as she struggled to breathe. I knew she was gone.

"I'm sorry." I whispered. Her hand fell from my face and her eyes became blank.

"I love you too." I breathed, and kissed her forehead.

I cried for the first time in eleven years. I couldn't let go of her. Everything else was a blur. Apparently one of the cops lived next to Valerie and her Stepfather, and he had already been convicted of abuse. The cop had seen me follow, called a squad, and followed soon after, slow because, well, they didn't know how to track cars. I wasn't charged for beating up Valerie's Stepfather, because it was self-defense, and, frankly, no one wanted to see an 18-year-old kid go to jail for rescuing his beaten girlfriend while an abusive step father walked free.

I didn't go to her funeral. I stayed in the greenhouse, playing my violin until my fingers ached. They had wanted me to speak, tell how amazing she was. But they didn't deserve to hear about her. They had their chance to get to know her.

I never got used to the silence. I tried different techniques. Mycroft was annoying beyond belief, I could never use him to unravel anything. I tried talking to myself, but it wasn't the same. I even tried talking to her grave, which I visited every day, but it didn't work the same. 

So I took her back. Her skull. When I moved into 221B, it rested on my mantel, her sketch on the wall by the door. I talked to the skull, because it comforted me. When I was using drugs, sometimes I would see her. Just glimpses. She haunted my dreams too. Sometimes they were good. Most of the time they were painful.

They were the only dreams I had for a very long time.


End file.
